


5 Times Elders Price and McKinley Accidentally Flirted With Each Other And One Time They Did It On Purpose

by phantomreviewer



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward Flirting, Birthday Party, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Elder Price and Elder McKinley are both talented at many things, neither of them are adapt at flirting, especially not with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Elders Price and McKinley Accidentally Flirted With Each Other And One Time They Did It On Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Book of Mormon again on Wednesday, and I came out of it with a desperate desire for fluff and happiness. So I wrote it. (And now back to _Twice Blessed_!)
> 
> Inspired by Stephen Rolley’s McKinley who tickled Elder Price, twice, to my confusion and delight. (For Part III I have been lovingly inspired by that iconic dancing scene from The Sound Of Music, you know, the one with the gloves.)

**_I_ **

Connor McKinley had always been a reasonably physically affectionate person; when he shook hands he held on for a touch longer than necessary but not long enough to make people uncomfortable, he was intuitive enough to know when someone would be more comforted by a hug or a firm pat to the shoulder. He was, by every definition of the term, a people person. And then he’d met Kevin Price.

Perhaps it had started after they shook hands after greeting. He just, liked touching Elder Price. And it wasn’t in a weird way, it wasn’t like _that_. It was just what buddies did, making each other feel better in a really heterosexual way. Of course.

So it only seemed natural that when Elder Price was feel nervous that he’d try and jolly him up a little. Connor’s elder sister would always tickle him, under the arms or behind the knees when little Connor, a little scared, unsure and upset about Steve would mope and cry big crocodile tears before he’d learnt how to turn it off. It was almost instinct to go for Elder Price’s stomach until he grinned, despite himself.

It just became _a thing_. After shaking Elder Price awake at the bus stop, having made sure that he was alright and conscious and seeing the concerned look on his face it had made sense to jiggle his stomach. And then, of course Connor had to push it too far to ask whether he’d been in Connor’s hell dream… it only made sense, Elder Price had been in _his_ the night before.

And then, well, _it_ happened, and then they weren’t just a group of LDS missionaries on a routine mission. Connor didn’t even know what they were any more. But that didn’t matter, in fact, that was good. They got to try and be something completely new. There was disagreement and discussion, rather than allowing frankly dangerous actions to go unquestioned, there was teamwork and more laughter – not that there hadn’t been before – and there weren’t the hellish consequences for breaking the rules. Certain rules were changing. But not laws, unfortunately.

Kevin Price smiled more. And Connor thought that it was his duty, as District Leader, of course. To ensure that that kept happening.

Kevin Price giggled like a schoolgirl when he let himself have fun. Most often this was brought about by Arnold’s actions, but sometimes, sometimes it was Connor McKinley and his quick fingers.

It was just roughhousing, _manly_ and _invigorating_ , and if it made Kevin smile at the same time, then it was definitely worth it.

“Does he even realise that he’s doing that?” Said Elder Neeley in an aside to Elder Davis one evening, when Connor had Kevin flapping his hands ineffectively with tears of laughter running down his face.

“No, I don’t think he does.”

* * *

  ** _II_**

It was a lot of work writing a sequel to The Book of Mormon, Kevin realised. He had a new found appreciation for what Joseph Smith had done – even if he really had dug up the Golden Plates after God told him where they were, and Kevin wasn’t completely convinced on that point any more – there was a lot of work that went into editing and publishing. And Joseph Smith hadn’t even had to contend with multiple language barriers.

Arnold was of course in charge of the story, it was going to be _his_ book after all. He had a knack for storytelling and theatrics which Kevin himself, strangely, found himself lacking. So, Arnold spent his time either scrawling down ideas for verses in his illegible handwriting which only Kevin could decipher in under an hour – “Yay! Best friend skills!” – or preaching original texts with the help and assistance of whoever was on duty that day. They didn’t stick to their assigned companions any more, and while Kevin missed seeing his best friend 24/7, he did understand the logic of Elder McKinley’s instruction. After all, he wasn’t overly creative - although he was excellent at memorising – which meant that it sometimes cramped Arnold’s… _style_. It made sense. It worked.

So, Arnold wrote _The Book of Arnold_ , Kevin and the other Elders typed it up and turned their hand to the complicated task of editing Arnold’s ramblings. Nabulungi helped with their translations and smiled shyly in Arnold’s direction just to see him blush. They are a well-oiled machine of a team. And District Leader McKinley, when he’s not proselytizing, dancing or talking with the other elders is spending most of his time attempting to find someone, anyone who would be willing to publish this semi-scandalous, completely hieratical and thoroughly wonderful text.

Early one morning after Kevin had snuck out to the _Kafe_ to get his breakfast coffee - technically he didn’t need to sneak out as the morning and evening curfews had been lifted – he let himself back into the Mission Hut keeping an eye out for passing lions. He was just planning on sneaking back into his and Arnold’s room, still quietly chuckling over Kimbay’s joke about the fireants and the motorbike engine when he heard the frantic sound of pen on paper.

Sticking his head into the cupboard space used as the District Leader’s Office he traced the sound back to Elder McKinley, hunched over his desk – a pile of precarious boxes, with another box making up his chair – handwriting a response to enquiries about whether _The Book of Arnold_ was satire from what Kevin could read over his shoulder.

He looked tense, curled over the desk, it was hardly perfect posture. He felt tense when Kevin pressed his hands over Elder McKinley’s shoulders and pulled him into an upright position.

“Oh,” McKinley started, turning his head to see who was behind him, “Elder Price. You startled me.”

He had, the sentence that McKinley had been writing had drifted down the page. Still, Kevin didn’t remove his hands. Instead he pressed down further. He could feel the moment when Connor’s shoulder sagged, and he sighed as Kevin dug down into the muscles of his shoulders.

“Elder Price, you mustn’t,” said Connor, although he made no attempts to move away or shrug Kevin aside.

“Just doing what any friend would do Elder,” replied Kevin. Getting back to work.

* * *

**_III_ **

“We want to make out next pageant more historically accurate,” said Nabulungi as she faced all of the American Elders standing awkwardly in front of the Mission Hut. They didn’t know why she’d called them all outside, only saying that it was very important that they all attend at once. And when Sister Nabulungi asked you to do something, you did it.

“The last time we told the story of the Mormons we used our type of dancing. But we thought that it might be fun,” and with this she gestured at a good half of Kitguli who had come out of their homes and shops and surgeries, to watch the proceedings with an amused look in their eyes, “if you could show us some of your dances.”

Almost immediately Connor could tell that they’d been duped. While, yes, of course he loved to dance and to show people he somehow thought that this had more to do with providing some much needed entertainment than it really was about education.

“Well,” he began, “we don’t really have traditional dances in that sense? I do tap dancing… but it’s a bit dusty out here for that. Maybe ballroom would count?”

There was a sudden noise of shuffling behind him and it was a reminder that his mission brothers and friends were, in fact, all painfully heterosexual teenage boys – probably reminded of bad experiences being forced to dance publically at proms, and they had all stepped back. Leaving Elder McKinley as the only volunteer.

They weren’t shy in the Mission Hut, behind closed walls and away from the prying eyes. Connor suspected that there were probably a few crushes forming – at least beyond Nabulungi and Arnold, that one was so obvious that it would take a blind man to miss it, and even then they gushed about each other constantly. So, Connor suspected that the Elders just don’t want to look foolish in front of the villagers.

Except, he’s somehow volunteered to teach ballroom dancing and he doesn’t have the right shoes for it, or a partner, or any music. This is going to be a disaster. But, well, at least it will hardly be the worst thing to happen on this mission. That’s almost a relief.

“I’ll need a partner.”

Connor assumes that Elder Thomas will step forward, loyalty to his mission companion being a stronger force than his embarrassment, or even Nabulungi, who has always taken a hands-on approach to learning.

Of course it’s Kevin Price who steps forward, coughing in a very pronounced and fake way which could mean _anything_ , and then holds out his hand. Connor had been hoping to lead, but Kevin has seemingly made an executive decision, cupping his shoulder, and Connor can do nothing but to look up -damn that height difference that seems larger at this short distance- and put his hand on Kevin’s arm.

Kevin can waltz the Viennese Waltz remarkably well and Connor forgets to vocalise the steps and instructions. Kevin is humming something from _Snow White_ as they turn, but Connor can’t remember the name.

* * *

**_IV_ **

Kevin couldn’t see who was muttering in the darkness, but he hushed them nonetheless. After all, it wouldn’t be a surprise if Elder McKinley could hear them. It was just about quiet in the living quarters when he could hear steps outside, and some out of tune whistling.

The door swung open, throwing light into the room.

“Happy Birthday Elder McKinley!”

Elder McKinley leapt back, almost comically, with one hand clutched to his chest before and Kevin shot forward to keep him balanced. He tried not to be offended when Elder McKinley only thanked him, patting his arm absentmindedly instead looking at the clumsily made birthday banner strung up across the chalkboard.

“Oh my gosh you guys. This is so sweet. But, well, it was my birthday _last_ month.”

Kevin huffed, despite himself. You try and do something nice for someone, and it was hardly his fault that Connor had only said it was his birthday the day after. And he said as much.

“I- We didn’t know about it then. It’s a belated surprise. We thought you’d like it.” He made the conscious effort not to cross his arms as he said so.

Elder McKinley smiled, wide and bright and he looked his young age for once. It suited him. Kevin liked seeing people happy.

“Oh but, I love it Elder Price,” he said, “And it certainly is a surprise thank you!”

The party, not that it was much of a party, continued as planned. Arnold had been to the market with Nabulungi to buy an old boom-box for some background noise – crackling out what Nabulungi had called Radio Buganda – and there were a few presents dotted on the table, alongside the small picnic set up for the meal.

Elder McKinley was particularly taken by the centre-piece - as Kevin knew he would be – of the Devil’s Food Cake, or the closest approximation that they could make using the ingredients from the scant pantry. They’d had to buy local eggs and cocoa to complement their own provisions and the supplementary chocolate had to be painstakingly extracted from chocolate chip cookies or requisitioned from personal supplies.

“Why does it matter so much?” Poptarts had said petulantly, even as he was chopping up one of his eponymous poptarts to add chocolate sauce to the icing mixture. Which was certainly not in the recipe, but they were getting to the point where improvisation was not only key, but also their only option.

“Because it’s Elder McKinley’s favourite,” Kevin had said – he’d been talking to McKinley about things that he missed about the US and the only thing that Elder McKinley had come up with was Devil’s Food Cake and that had started something in his mind. “And we should do something nice for him.”

There had been some eye rolls in the small kitchen, but everyone had rallied together as McKinley had been sent out on urgent business to go and speak to Mafala. What they’d come up with on the other side of the baking was certainly a cake. And if it didn’t look beautiful it certainly tasted divine.

Connor looked remarkably surprised when he took his first bite. And Kevin felt himself flush. He assumed it was with pride. That would make sense.

Connor was still eating when Arnold sidled over. Kevin couldn’t hear everything that they were saying but that was fine, it wasn’t like they needed supervising. He tried to busy himself with some washing up, but his eyes kept being dragged back to where Arnold and Connor were talking.

“Kevin did all of this for _you_ ,” Arnold looked like he was trying to wink at Connor as he spoke, but it came across, even from Kevin’s distance, as more of a grimace.

“Elder Price certainly is a great friend,” Connor said thoughtfully. And Kevin felt himself preen.

Luckily, Arnold took the opportunity to start waxing lyrical about his best friend, and Kevin, while still delighted, was happy enough to turn back to the washing up, the words ‘Elder Price is a great friend’ repeating in his head. He was. He was a great friend. He’d have done this for anyone. Wouldn’t he?

* * *

**_V_ **

It was a stupid mistake to have made. He knew that the roof of the surgery was unsteady, as well as full of holes, and he knew that he should have been watching where he was leaning, but Kevin was distracted, both by the intense heat and the sweat dripped down into his eyes but also by Gotswana’s instructions for where to hammer the final nail home.

It was lucky that he didn’t go straight through the roof when he put his hand down on a loose plank. Everything froze for a moment, while Kevin mentally checked his limbs and made sure that he still had all his fingers.

Then Gotswana laughed. And then, after the shock subsided, so did Kevin.

It was a stupid mistake, but there were still less holes in the roof than there had been before Kevin had made another one and after carefully making his way down the ladder he held out his wrist to Gotswana for inspection.

Kevin hissed as Gotswana prodded his wrist, but he trusted him and in the end Gotswana clapped him on the shoulder with a smile.

“No real harm done. You have only sprained it. I would say that you should put some ice on it, but we are in Uganda. There is no ice! You are no good to me like this. Keep it elevated for a few days and don’t do anything rash, I know what you boys are like. In the mean time I will get someone strong and tough to help me, maybe Nabulungi or Sadaka who know better than to fall off roofs. Go home and rest Elder Kevin.”

He shooed Kevin away, and waiting until Kevin was about the round the corner he called out to him, loud enough that anyone for the next two streets could hear.

“Don’t do anything too _hard_ with that hand,” he shouted shaking a loose fist in Kevin’s direction, and laughing hysterically. Sometimes, Kevin didn’t understand Gotswana’s humour.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the Mission Hut when he pushed open the door. But, sitting up as though he was waiting for him, was Elder McKinley, who looked up, shocked when Kevin walked into the blissful shelter of the room.

“Elder Price?” He said, standing up and making a motion towards Kevin’s cradled hand, “What happened to you?”

“I… errr,” Kevin felt the urge to rub at the back of his neck, but he’d just about managed to angle his left hand to support his right wrist against his chest without hurting it, so he resisted, “I fell off Gotswana’s roof. Well, not off, more sort of _through_?”

McKinley was looking both very shocked, and very disappointed in equal measure. It wasn’t a look that Kevin had seen addressed towards him very often in his life. Elder McKinley’s disappointment didn’t feel _worse_ than a sprained wrist, but it certainly didn’t make him feel any better.

“You fell _through_ a roof?”

Kevin gave a half shrug, not sure how to approach Elder McKinley in full District Leader mode, like this he was unlikely to try shock him into laughing, which felt like such a casual and normal thing to do these days. Playing made the mission feel more like home and the other elders more like family, none more than Arnold and Elder McKinley. But not in this instance. No, Elder McKinley’s face looked very stern. No place for jollity.

“Not all the way through the roof, I just sprained it,” he said wiggling his wrist for good affect and then wincing and he realised just what a ridiculous thing that was to have done.

Elder McKinley’s frown lessened slightly, and he bustled away but just as Kevin thought that he’d been dismissed, and was making plans to sneak off into his room to lick his wounds in private Elder McKinley returned, and with one free hand gently pushed him into the recently vacated chair.

Once Kevin was sat Elder McKinley crouched down in front of him, bouncing on his heels even as he looked passively up at Kevin.

“Wrist,” he ordered.

Kevin didn’t question but laid his injured right wrist down into McKinley’s waiting palm.

He was surprisingly gentle.

“This might sting a little -” Elder McKinley said, tightening his grip. “Stings already”, Kevin couldn’t help interjecting, childishly.

McKinley only raised his eyebrows in response. Kevin felt himself flush, it was like being at school again.

And then McKinley wrapped the cool, damp dishcloth that he’d been holding in his other hand around Kevin’s damaged wrist. It wasn’t cold exactly -especially not where the hot pinpricks of Elder McKinley’s fingertips were pressed against his bare skin- but it was almost chilled comparative to nothing.

“You have to keep it compressed,” Elder McKinley said, still on his knees, as his grip tightened on Kevin’s wrist.

* * *

**_\+ 1_ **

Connor should have left Uganda months ago. But he’d been so caught up in helping the villagers and ensuring the success of the Book of Arnold and teaching Elder B how to smile without scaring people, that’s he’d scarcely thought about what would happen when he went home let alone made plans for it. But now, here they were, at Salt Lake City International Airport.

It had been a chaotic last few days. Only the three of them had been left in the end. Him, Kevin and Arnold. Everyone else had left after their missions had officially ended and Connor should have left too, but the Training Centre hadn’t – for obvious reasons – sent out another District Leader, the District was still officially closed, but he’d felt it was his duty to help clear up until the end.

And it didn’t matter that it was the end, not really. They’d left the Mission Hut in the capable hands of the Elders and Sisters of the Church of The Book of Arnold. This village, has, as Elder Price once claimed, been saved. And they saved it themselves. The Elders only helped that process along. That was how it was supposed to be.

Connor was sad to leave. But even Kevin and Arnold had had to admit that it had been time.

The whole village had waved them goodbye at the bus stop, with firm handshakes and hugs and promises of writing letters and sending texts. And Nabulungi – finally – kissed Arnold. Mafala only smiled, and nodded, just the once.

“We will see each other again Prophet,” Nabulungi had said, with conviction, “I know it.”

Arnold had sniffed, and Connor knew that it was for Arnold, and not himself that Kevin had packed tissues into his hand luggage.

“Yes Nebula- Nabula- Nabulungi,” he beamed, “I promise we will.”

It had been the first time that he’d known Elder Cunningham to get Nabulungi’s name right. It was only afterwards, on the plane with Arnold snoring against the window seat and Kevin Price asleep with his _head_ on Connor’s _shoulder_ that he realised that Arnold and Nabulungi could have been kissing a lot in private. He supposed that it didn’t make a lot of difference. Things weren’t always what they seemed in Uganda.

After an hour of attempting to read the inflight magazine the gentle pressure was lifted from his shoulder and he instinctively looked towards Kevin’s big, sleep-soft eyes. That was probably his first mistake. Or one mistake of many, looking back on it.

“Hmm,” Kevin said, arching his neck against the headrest, “You’re very comfortable.”

And he could _not_ have meant that in the way that Connor heard it. But Kevin either hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t cared, as he settled back into his chair and smiled, contentedly to himself.

There was silence for a few moments, but there had always been bustle in Kitguli and it was more comfortable to fill up the silence with idle chatter. And if this was going to be his last opportunity to talk to Kevin Price, well, Connor wanted to make the most of it.

“I have to say Elder Price,” he started, before being interrupted with a “Call me Kevin, please, it’s what my friends call me, and we are friends, aren’t we?”

Connor startled, he hadn’t expected the interruption, and, of course they were friends. They were good friends. Buddies, who did friend things together like waltz and throw surprise parties and give massages. Totally normal friend things to do.

“Err, yes. Of course we are. You’re special. Anyway, I was saying, Kevin-” he trailed off, embarrassed. But even as Connor felt his own face flush, he noticed a touch of pink creep up Kevin’s features as well.

It didn’t make sense, at least, not at first. But in a confined space, with limited entertainment value there was little else to do but think.

He hardly dared to risk thinking too hard about his conclusions. They seemed far too hopeful

“So,” Connor voice broke on the word, his throat was dry, more time had elapsed in silence between them than Connor had imagined. “Kevin. Anyone waiting for you back home… a girlfriend maybe?”

Kevin shook his head, eagerly, like a puppy, Connor thought. Too eagerly maybe.

“No. No girlfriend. No one else either. If you were thinking that. Which you weren’t.”

Kevin Price flustered was a wonderful think to behold, at least up close. And Connor really hoped that he wasn’t wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt very right.

The conversation flitted gently, teasingly for the duration of the flight, until Arnold had woken up and interrupted them to tell them both all about his dream where Joseph Smith and Kevin had been something called ‘drift compatible’ and had controlled a Jaeger called ‘Frog Face’. Sometimes Connor worried about what went on inside that boy’s head.

There had been something lingering in the air however and now it was almost too late. Back down on American soil. For Arnold and Kevin it would be easy, just a cab ride home, but Connor still had air-miles to rack up.

For a moment they stood alone, the three of them unsure of how to proceed, before Arnold ducked his head in the direction of the nearest toilets - “Don’t leave without me!” – and then he was gone.

“Err, Connor. I mean, we need to go through to baggage reclaim now, and you have to get your connecting flight. Once Arnold gets back, I guess this is goodbye?”

“I guess this is,” Connor echoed.

It would have been easier to do this in Uganda. Somehow it was far stranger saying goodbye to Kevin here. Somewhere where he looked like he belonged. Like Connor belonged.

It was Kevin who initiated the hug. He’d always known that Kevin was taller than him, but somehow the knowledge of it felt different to being wrapped up in a warm embrace. He sagged into the hug, bringing his own arms up around Kevin’s waist, as he’d wanted to do. He tweaked at the softness of Kevin’s stomach, just to feel his huff of a laugh against his cheek. It was accompanied by a small sigh, which Connor could have missed if it hadn’t been directly against his skin.

He made a decision.

Extracting himself from Kevin’s arms, he dropped down to unzip the front pocked of his little travel case, pulling out what looked like the receipt from the publishing company and an old biro, scribbling something down before tearing it off the paper, zipping the bag shut again and standing.

“Look, here’s my cell number. Call me. We can get coffee sometime. I can watch you drink it.”

And, oh my gosh, that was such a stupid thing to say. It had sounded so suave when he’d thought it in his head, but it had come out so _wrong_ and he just expected Kevin to laugh and walk away. Good old McKinley always putting people at ease.

But before Connor’s internal monologue could get up to full speed, it was rudely interrupted by Kevin.

“Not if I call you first.” And Kevin winced, he physically cringed even before the words had fully left his mouth.

Even as Kevin’s face dropped dramatically, the smile creeped back up Connor’s, blooming into something wild. He clapped both his hands up to his mouth to try and hide his joy.

“Shut up, okay, I was nervous.” Apparently his smile was infectious, as despite his words, Kevin had started to smile as well.

“Nervous, nervous of me?” Connor tried to look innocent, but knew that he was grinning too much to look anything other than gleeful.

“What are you laughing about guys?” Arnold called out as he rushed back over, and Kevin quickly tugged the paper out from between Connor’s fingers and slipped it in his own pocket before Arnold had drawn breath.

“Nothing,” said Connor, hurriedly, “just, saying our goodbyes.”

Kevin scuffed the toe of one shoe idly against the heel of the other, an attempted picture of innocence. His ears were still red.

“Oh,” said Arnold, rather dejectedly, “I thought that Kevin had finally told you how he felt about you. He’s been saying your name in his sleep for _ages._ And if he didn’t do it now then who knows if you’re ever going to see each other again!”

From the look on Kevin’s face, Arnold had never shared that particular piece of information with him before. If he hadn’t been so delighted at the unexpected confession then he would have treasured that look of shocked astonishment forever.

There was stunning silence for a moment, not long enough for the expressions on Kevin’s face to smooth back into something less stunning. But despite wanting to stay, to stay desperately within this moment, Connor knew that time was not his friend with regards to catching his next flight. The idea didn’t scare him though, not this time. He had to go, but that didn’t make it the end. No. This was just a new beginning.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” he said, intending to turn around and head towards connections. But he couldn’t, not so abruptly. Not with this brand new information. It felt a little like power.

Arnold looked like he could cry, again. And Kevin had run out of tissues.

He wrapped an arm around both of their shoulders, height difference between the three of them and the awkwardness of trying to stretch his arms over two grown men, be dratted, just for a moment. Just for a hug.

“We’re going to see each other again,” he said, turning so that he all but whispered the words in Kevin’s ear and felt something like the whisper of breathe, or the softness of lips against his cheek momentarily in return.

He stepped back.

“I’ll miss you both. I heard great things about you, and you both exceeded them. It has been a real honour working with you both,” he said, still stepping backwards, and with one hand on the handle of his case he raised the other.

“Kevin?”

Kevin stared after him, eagerly.

And then sticking his thumb and pinkie in the air in the ubiquitous ‘call me’ sign and raising it to his ear, Connor winked at the still shocked look on Kevin Price’s face, and, turned, to catch his connecting flight.

He had a call to take after he landed, after all.


End file.
